


Who you are

by dev_chieftain



Category: Dragon Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-07
Updated: 2011-10-07
Packaged: 2017-10-24 09:36:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/261877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dev_chieftain/pseuds/dev_chieftain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the deep roads, huddled around the wounded, where it is dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who you are

**Author's Note:**

> Found this lying around from ages ago. Was originally written at request of a friend.

He is cleaning his swords and his hands are _not_ shaking, behind a stone rise that was a building, once. Alistair's voice has quieted, the maddening pain of the spider-queen's poison has been eased for now. Ohgren poured a vial of something amber down the ex-templar's throat before they bandaged him, saying 'this'll burn it outta ya, brat. Gotta keep you up if we're going to get very far down here'. Now Leliana is singing softly over their cold encampment while Ohgren and Alistair sleep. He had ordered them then not to make a fire at the time but when he hears the distant sounds of the shriekers now, he regrets it.

Suddenly, he is aware that the singing has stopped and lurches to his feet, both blades drawn, swallowing the fear that the others have been attacked while he was distracted. Before he has moved two steps, Leliana peeks around the corner of his ruinous shelter and smiles, her brow wrinkled with worry. "You may calm yourself, I will not hurt you."

It is difficult to lower the weapons, difficult to keep his hands still. He rubs at the back of his neck and looks sidelong into the yawning trenches of shadow that hang to his left, mere steps away, endless and evil. It seems to him that when he looks into them, the bowels of the world are transformed into a seething mass of the undead horror that they march against now. The fear of falling into the image of the black city is so overwhelming that he has to turn away and then Leliana is standing right beside him, almost in his arms.

"Are you feeling well?" Her odd way of smiling and looking concerned at the same time makes him feel as though he is like her; he can't remember the last time he felt at ease. Perhaps it is the same for her.

"No," he tells her, taking her right hand in his and squeezing it gently. "But it's nothing. I'll sleep until second watch."

Before he can step away, she reaches up and catches his cheek in her hand, smoothing her fingers along the lines of the compass-tattoo his parents bestowed on him when he was just a child. The act reminds him of Tamlen and their sworn bond as brothers. Of the image he'd seen in the lost temple and the reality that came to him in camp only days later. "You are troubled," Leliana says. He can see how simultaneously this upsets and excites her, how in her eyes there is a lingering hope that she can be the one that eases his fears, comforts him. She is beautiful and gentle and he wants to love her for the moments they share beneath the stars, meekly facing their destinies. But there is Morrigan, who is the outcast of the world and who lives by nature-- who he _understands_ , and there is the memory of Tamlen. There are moments like this, when her eagerness to accomplish some personal goal with him makes him uncomfortable. "Is there anything I can do?"

He puts his hand over her own, gently moving it away from his face. "I'm not sure that you can."

"I am a good listener. Would you like to talk about it? Here, we can sit in the shadow of this little house and whisper to each other. Alistair is sleeping much better, and Ohgren could take a whole cadre of Genlocks by himself, yes?"

Oddly, the image of Ohgren charging headfirst into a swarm of the little Genlocks almost makes him want to laugh, though it horrifies him at the same time. There is something he suspects about all this, something that he saw when the camp was attacked, something that he has not dared speak with the others about. Something he wishes Alistair knew, that Duncan probably already suspected. He manages to grin very slightly at her, shaking his head. "I don't think you'd want to hear about it."

"Of course I would!" She gasps, outrage blossoming hot and red across her face. It is unfortunately somewhat unbecoming, though endearing in a way. "I _love_ you! How can you say such a thing?"

Her voice echoes through the caverns, through the void that is there behind them, haunting him. Some primal fear hisses up his spine and he snaps a hand over her mouth, silencing her, pulling her close with his other arm and crouching low. They are both very still for a moment, and her voice sighs over the violently large space behind them, until the sound is lost. Following it, there is a wicked hissing and snarling, and the scuttling of rocks falling along the edge of the cliff: and three shriekers drop down from the ceiling, casting about blindly. Their long ears and horrible, familiar faces are too much like his recent memory and he shuts his eyes, unwilling to look at them.

They cower there in silence for what seems like ages, Leliana trembling in his arms and he shuddering with fear, revulsion. One of the three seems to smell him and steps closer, once, twice, nosing about at the darkness and calling softly to him.

Its voice is too ruined to do more than whisper, and its words are almost nonsense-- save the little tendril of that wicked taint that runs through his body now. "Brother," it calls, beckoning him to it, mimicking a smile with a grimacing show of its teeth. "Wouldn't you like to join us? We can show you the city, brother. The fade city, the glorious city!" And as it speaks, there is a sort of pull on him, all of him, sinister and soft, almost unnoticeable. "You've seen it before in the cave, haven't you? You know its beauty."

He doesn't dare make a sound, fighting the dizzy sensation that encourages him to follow the shriekers back down into that bottomless pit from which they came.

"Brother!" It calls again, stepping to the right, then the left, turning about in a hungry circle. "Think of what we could do for you if you come with us! Think of the end to your fear. You cannot fear what you are! Come now. Won't you join us?"

They wait, Leliana holding him back as much as he is holding himself back, and as the silence grows longer, the shriekers start to scream in fury, their voices so shrill he can hear Ohgren jerking awake: then they are gone, and he numbly lets Leliana go, asking her if she is all right mechanically, his throat dry and his mind elsewhere. She is quick to rush to Ohgren's side, assuring him that they're safe and the shriekers didn't notice them-- she thinks she is helping him keep the group calm, though he is mostly grateful for a chance to be alone.

He sits down beside Alistair and checks the Templar's temperature again, though it doesn't seem to have gone down. Did Alistair hear the words they screamed? Will he remember it later?

None of them want to sleep after that, so Leliana gets out her lute and sings softly about their strength in battle, trying to keep their thoughts on something other than the dark-skinned shriekers, staying close to him and offering him comfort as she has been all along. It is many hours later that they finally drift off out of exhaustion and when he wakes, it is to Alistair mumbling softly, incoherently. Stiffly, he stands, checking their little camp, counting the bodies present, confirming that they are the correct sort of bodies, the same people with whom he went to sleep. When he's sure of that, he relaxes, crouching down by Leliana.

Her hair is a messy red halo where she lies, bright and well-kept despite its short length. She sleeps peacefully enough that he is loathe to touch her, for fear of interrupting. Still, he caresses her, brushing the hair out of her eyes. It is better that she didn't see the shriekers running their tongues along their sharpened teeth, hungering for her flesh. It is better if she does not know that the tattoos he could see on their skin were all Dalish in origin, tattoos worn only by members of his particular tribe. She will not be happy that he keeps secrets from her and this far beneath the ground it is hard to remember the nights they have spent keeping watch beneath the stars.

But she starts awake with his fingers tangled in her hair, frowning and sleepy until she realizes it's him and summons her usual smile. "Still awake?"

"I can't sleep," he agrees, and almost goes on but catches himself. She notices; it seems she always does.

"You are hiding a great many things from me," she accuses, in a soft and drowsy tone that is still thick with sleep. It is less acerbic than her usual accusations, less forceful and whimsically angry. "When they whispered, I heard nothing but horrible cries of pain; but I saw your face. The taint of the Grey Wardens, it lets you hear them speak, does it not? I remember you have spoken with Alistair about such things before."

Taken aback, he is able to recover after a moment when he remembers who and what she is. It is customary not to think of his companions for their backgrounds. They are too varied and violently opposed to one another to function if their ghosts and hopes are constantly in conflict. He makes it his policy to know of their demons and not speak of them without permission; this is why Morrigan first became interested in him, and why Leliana trusts him with her life.

"Will you tell me what they said to you?" she asks, and he senses that if he does not answer, he will be forfeiting that trust, at least in part.

It would be better if she didn't know, but this dark and stifling world of the dwarves is no place for unnecessary secrets. Perhaps he is a liability, hearing their enemies speak to him so. Better to be prepared. "They were asking me to join them." He grips the hilts of his swords subconsciously, still worried that the sound of his voice might summon the monsters back. "They knew who I was."

Maybe it is the dimness of this place, or maybe she really is looking away from him-- beyond him-- to try not to meet the underlying statements in his words. They both lust for the promise of an end to the war, of a time when they can travel the world and not care a whit for any of it. But if things continue like this, they will not share that dream when they leave this place.

"I'm sorry," he says, rising to go back to Alistair's side and check on him again.

"Don't be. You are cursed with kindness, and I am selfishly jealous. And there are important things to do before we can talk about it in full." She smiles, a real, honest smile as he can't remember seeing her do. "We cannot be apologetic for who we are."


End file.
